Uncertainty: The 58th Hunger Games
by NessieTheMessy
Summary: Death is the most certain and the most uncertain event there is. - Peter Wessel Zapffe (SYOT)
1. Prologue One

**A/N:** I've been think about writing a SYOT for a while now... And here I am. I'm Nessie, and quite a newbie when it comes to actually writing these kind of stories, but I'll try my best! If you want to be a part of this journey, then read along and maybe even submit a tribute or two (or three). The form will be on my profile along with the rules.

I'd really appreciate it if together we could make this story happen! :)

* * *

 **Prologue One**

* * *

The world seemed to fall silent as the twinkling snowflakes descent from the skies, twirling and dancing in the wind before finally landing on the fluffy ground. A soft sigh escaped the woman's lips at the peaceful scenery laid out before her, her forehead pressed firmly against the cold window. The purity of the Capitol clothed in white and silver has always fascinated her. What could be more refreshing than the world coated in a sparkling cotton blanket?

Well, the answer to that question was simple: the world coated in a _bloodstained_ cotton blanket.

She shifted in a more comfortable position on her window seat, a cup of steaming hot chocolate clasped firmly in her thin hands. The memories of last year's Hunger Games were still fresh on her mind. The deaths were far from spectacular, but there were more than a couple of gruesome deaths, and the way the blood of those tributes dyed the snow was certainly a sight to see. Her husband was truly a genius.

She looked over at the man in question; his large form towering over his working desk, his soft features hardened as he looked over the scattered blueprints. She could almost see the wheels turning inside his head.

The majority of the Capitol citizen didn't share her opinion about that Arena. They wanted more bloodshed, not deaths caused by natural causes. The president himself did not like last year's games either. Her husband's life was threatened, along with hers; and that was exactly the reason why he buried himself in his work. He had to design a good Arena this time around. It was his last chance and if he failed, his child will never get to live.

The woman dropped her legs to the floor, and putting her cup to the side, she stood up. She crossed the distance between herself and the man of her life with wobbly steps; it was hard to see where exactly she was stepping with a pregnant belly blocking her sight. Brushing her royal blue locks out of her eyes, she leaned against his desk.

"Do you want some coffee?" she inquired with a tilt of her head, her voice almost a whisper as to not disturb her husband's thinking.

"No," was his curt response. For minutes they stood like this and the woman almost jumped out of her skin when he suddenly dropped down in the nearest chair. He ran his hands through his curly pink hair, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. "We're screwed, Cleopatra. He won't like any of these."

The man scowled at the blueprints in silent anger. She smiled slightly, putting her small hands on his back.

"You can do it, Dragan. I know it. The Arena will be so breathtaking that the president will instantly forget about last year."

"I don't know about that," murmured Dragan. "I've ran out of ideas."

Noticing her husband's uncertainty, Cleopatra shifted her gaze to the scattered papers on his desk; one catching her attention instantly. It wasn't as beautiful as last years, but it had potential. The more she looked at it, the more she liked it.

"What about this one?" she asked, bringing the said blueprint to Dragan's attention. "It's not a deserted landscape like last year; it has resources. You only need to spice things up a bit. Like… you could add a deadlier area around the edges, and the Cornucopia."

He was silent for a couple of seconds, then his eyes snapped to Cleopatra's form; face shining with newfound hope. Dragon pulled her into his lap and kissed her cheek lovingly.

"I love, you know that?" he put his large hand on her belly. "Both of you."

She giggled.

"We know."

* * *

 **A/N:** And here we have it guys; a sneak peak into the private life of a Head Gamemaker! Will the president like his idea?Only time will tell.

What do you think about my writing style, is there anything I should change about it? Constructive criticism is always welcome!

Hope you consider submitting!

 **~Nessie**


	2. Prologue Two

**A/N:** Hi~! I'm back and I brought you the second prologue of _Uncertainty_! Thank you for all the positive feedback; I never thought that my little story will catch the attention of so many people! I'm shocked at how many tributes I already got, even though I posted only one short prologue! You're amazing, everyone!

* * *

 **Prologue Two**

* * *

He was sitting in front of the extravagant fireplace situated in the living room, enveloped into the finest blankets one could find in the Capitol, yet he was freezing. He didn't catch a cold, no. Dragan was as healthy as a man could be in his early thirties. Physically, he was just fine, but psychologically he certainly wasn't. The amount of stress he has been through started to take its toll on the man, and he wasn't happy about it. He couldn't afford to be weak. Not now, when so many things depended on his work.

"Here," smiled Cleopatra, putting yet another blanket on her husband's shaking form. She sat down beside him, resting her head against his broad shoulder. He merely grunted in response. "I love you Dragan. And I hate to see you suffering."

He would never, ever admit it out loud, but he indeed was suffering. Whether he stayed up all night working or had 8 hours of sleep it didn't make any difference to his exhaustion. The bedsheets always ended up in a knot; he continued to toss and turn every night, his mind constantly searching for new, more grandiose variables. At one point he decided to move out of their bedroom and claim the leather couch in the living room. His anxious behavior did nothing good for Cleopatra, the pregnant woman needed her rest.

"Come here." Dragan sneaked a hand out from under the layers of first class blankets and pulled his wife as close as her belly allowed it; her intoxicating citrus scent invading his nostrils. "One week. Seven more days, and I'll have to stand in front of that man. I'm… I'm not ready. Not in the slightest."

"But you're strong," insisted the woman. "Stronger than anyone else I know. You can do it. This is going to be the most exciting Arena in the history of the Hunger Games."

Dragan smiled faintly at her encouraging words.

"I believe in you, Dragan."

The man's face suddenly fell, as dark thoughts began to fill his mind. What if President Snow deems his design not good enough? What if he can't do it? The lives of his loved ones were at stake. What if he fails?

"Dragan!" He blinked questioningly at the woman by his side. She said nothing, instead she grabbed his free hand with a brilliant smile and pressed it against her belly. His features softened in a matter of second; the little one really knew how to kick.

"You know…" he began, holding her even closer. "I couldn't imagine my life without you."

And it was true. If it wasn't for her; her optimism, bright smile and strong character; then he would've given up this fight a long time ago. He wouldn't have begged on his knees for a second chance, he wouldn't try so hard now. But he had her and he had a child on its way.

He had them, and he'd do anything to keep them alive.

~O~

"Enter."

Dragan Imperial; capitolite, Head Gamemaker, soon-to-be father; never thought that he'd be frightened by this single word. _Enter_. A simple, short verb which means "to come or go into a particular place". In this case, into President Snow's office. The moment he dreaded has finally come.

Another deep breath, and Dragan stepped inside the suffocatingly white office. The room was void of any kind of decorations, save for an elegant vase of snow white roses on the president's desk. He could see his reflection in the large windows perfectly; even though he held his head high, trying with all his might not to give away his anxiety, he was failing miserably. His breathing labored, his hands shook and his movements were more erratic than he even cared to admit. All in all, Dragan looked like a petrified rabbit standing in front of a hungry predator.

"Good morning, sir. I've brought the blueprints just as you asked."

"Ah, I see." Seeing the older man's brief smile, Dragan winced involuntary.

The Gamemaker handed over the neatly organized files and sighed mentally. In approximately ten minutes his and his family's fate will be decided by the very man sitting in front of him. The more he stood in front of President Snow's desk, the harder it became to breath. The overly sweet scent of the flowers and the icy aura surrounding the other man suffocated him.

"Very detailed, very detailed…" the older man sighed dramatically as he eyed the files. "I have to say, there certainly is some kind of improvement, but…"

He didn't even bother to continue his sentence.

As time ticked away painfully slowly, Dragan didn't dare to look away from the president's form. Was his design good enough?

 _Was it?_

Five more minutes of nerve wrecking silence, and President Snow leaned back in his seat. He fixated Dragan with a blank stare for what felt like ages. Then, his judgment came.

He said only one word.

~O~

Cleopatra paced up and down in their spacious living room, anxiety eating away at her. She couldn't help but wonder; will the Peacekeepers invade her home or will her husband be the one who comes through that door next? She hoped; prayed to whatever god was left out there to keep Dragan safe. To keep her small family safe.

With a heavy sigh she sat down on the couch, asking an Avox to bring her a cup of green tea. Stress would get her nowhere.

The moment Cleopatra took a sip of the warm liquid she felt an unexplainable calm wash over her. But her mind still wasn't at ease. Different thought swirled around in her mind; however there was a single question that kept resurfacing: was this fear of death similar to what the districts experienced during every Reaping? She came to the conclusion that yes, it was very similar. Eerily similar. Fear of death has no gradation.

In the end, the Hunger Games make everyone suffer...

Cleopatra shut her eyes tightly and shook her head. She all but threw the half empty cup on the mahogany coffee table. These thoughts were not healthy; she was going crazy from all the stress.

The woman let her hands rest on her round belly. She had only two months until her due date, and she couldn't wait to hold her little one in her hands. If she lived until then, that is.

The front door slammed open, and Cleopatra was on her feet in a matter of seconds. She stared at the entrance, mouth agape and tears threatening to fall any minute. She couldn't believe her eyes. Her husband stared back at her lovingly with wide eyes and a triumphant smile on his lips.

"Acceptable!" he shouted. "It was 'acceptable'!"

By the time she registered his words she was already in his strong arms, tears streaming down her cheeks freely. She clung to him with all her might. He did it. He really did. Against all odds Dragan saved his family. She was going to hold her child in her arms, she was going to live.

As they stood in the middle of the living room, tangled in each other's arms, there was one gloomy thought that lurked in the back of their minds. They didn't want to think about it, not in that moment, but the question remained.

President Coriolanus Snow never gives second chances, so why did he do it now?

* * *

 **A/N:** How was it? I'll try to remain as original as possible with this story, but it is hard when there are soooooo many SYOTs beside mine... But anyway, this was the last prologue! Next, we are going to meet the mentors. I already have the first half of the districts written, six more to go! :D

Don't worry, we are going to meet Dragan and Cleopatra again in the near future. Any guesses on why Snow gave them this second chance? And before I forget, I need your help! I can't decide on a name for Dragan and Cleopatra's daughter, so I'll put a poll on my profile. If you want to, go check it out and vote for your favorite name!

(Also, it may sound strange, but I keep rereading your reviews! I'm just so happy, they keep me motivated and inspired to write as fast as I possibly can! Again, thank you for all the support!)

Don't forget to submit a tribute if you haven't already! Until next time!

 **~Nessie**


	3. Ch 1: We all have stories to tell

**A/N:** Hi~! Sorry for the long wait! Life was hectic for me lately, but I finally managed to finish the first chapter! I will come back later and reread for any mistakes. I could do that now, but I just want to post this for you as fast as possible!

* * *

 **~Chapter One~**

 **We all have stories to tell**

* * *

 **District 1**

 _Amista Beaufort, 22 years old_

 _Victor of the 54th Hunger Games_

Prostitution isn't a job for just anyone. It requires certain competencies, such as physical attractiveness, seduction skills, interpersonal skills and so on. Every night you find yourself in the arms of a stranger, be it man, woman or something in between. They kiss you, touch you in the most inappropriate places, and you submit yourself to their desires.

And Amista loved it, every single minute of it. Whenever someone led her to their bedroom, she felt their love and desire; they wanted her. She was needed. She became a slave, yes, but that was fine. At least her life had a purpose. After her victory, she no longer needed to train at the Academy and she was too young to mentor or train others; she felt lost. She had nothing to look forward to. She was going insane and she could physically feel it.

President Snow was the one who saved her. He approached Amista with an offer she couldn't possibly refuse. Others might say that he forced her into prostitution, but the truth was, she accepted his offer willingly. He gave her something to do, and she was utterly grateful for that.

Being a prostitute in the Capitol was a lifestyle Amista quickly became accustomed to. She was pampered much like during her Victory tour, she was always in the center of attention. She rarely visited her family, and when she did return to her home district, boredom was slowly but surely killing her.

And now was one of those instances.

Amista wandered around District 1 aimlessly; the cold February air sneaked its way under her thick clothing effortlessly and shivers run down her spine every other minute. She hug myself tightly to preserve whatever warmth was left in her body all the while glaring daggers at the slippery road.

What was she even doing here?

"You alright?"

Amista stopped in her tracks abruptly; she knew this croaky voice all too well. She looked up at the man standing only a couple of feet away from her and the precious memories of her trainee days flooded her mind.

"What do you think, Jun dear?" she snarled back playfully. His hearty laugh was contagious, she soon found herself chuckling along with him.

Jun Gilmore was someone Amista had mixed feelings about. Jun was one year above her in the Academy; there were times when the trainers paired up the two of them, but they always ended up fooling around instead of training. He was one of the few people whose friendship Amista actually cherished. However there was a side to him that she didn't quite like. He couldn't care less about the games; the mentors almost chose him as the next volunteer back then, but he refused. They had a really nasty fight when Amista discovered that. Jun didn't have the passion of a career, but he certainly had the skills. In the end, they made him an assistant at the Academy.

When his laugh subsided, he turned back to her.

"It's the fourth time I see you walking down this street in the last half an hour. Bored, huh?" An amused smirk played at the corner of his thin lips.

"Yes, very much so."

"Then come with me."

"Where to?" she rose an eyebrow suspiciously.

"The Academy."

"Why?" Amista was ready to sell her soul to the devil just to escape that boredom, but why should she go to that place? It has been years since she last visited, and since she wasn't a mentor or trainer, she didn't really have any business there.

"Many things have changed since you last came around, Amista. There are many promising trainees. Like, there is a pair of twins, they enrolled just recently. What were their names again? Gloss and… Cashmere? You should check them out sometime."

"Jun, stop playing the innocent." She shook her head, trying to hide her smile. She could see right through him. "You don't care about some squeaky 12 year olds. You just want to show off, admit it."

"Okay, you got me." He straightened his back, a cheshire grin playing on his lips. "Lets make a deal."

"Oh?"

"Tabitha's heart condition worsened recently, she's in the Capitol; if you come with me to the Academy now, I'll convince the other victors to let you mentor this year."

"What?" Amista's eyes widened in shock. She didn't know that her former mentor had any kind of health problems; Tabitha was still in her prime, she has never shown any sign of being sick. _Being weak is a disgrace,_ she once told Amista. _Especially for a victor._ Amista made a mental note to visit her once she returned to the Capitol.

With that thought in mind, her attention shifted to the situation at hand. "You can do that?"

He hummed in response with a mysterious glint in his eyes.

She'll have something to do. _She'll be of use_.

"Okay. Lead the way."

Amista stepped forward, pulling Jun into a sideway hug. The man squeezed her tightly, and avoiding all the slippery spots on the snowy ground, they started in the direction of the Academy.

There was one thing however the woman did not know. The butterflies in Jun's stomach fluttered around like never before.

* * *

 **District 2**

 _Brutus Thor, 28 years old_

 _Victor of the 48th Hunger Games_

She was yet another victor beaten down by old age. At 71, her hair was only a frilly white curtain, her once porcelain face nothing but a frail layer of skin. Liver spots crept over her once beautiful features and strong arms, and her joints ached in the cold weather. She could no longer walk without her cane.

So; for the love of everything that is holy; why was Ursel Gros standing in the middle of the wrestling ring!?

Brutus stood by the entrance, mouth agape and eyes wide. He was dumbfounded by the old woman's actions. The cane laid in the corner of the training room long forgotten, and its owner stood with such confidence and pride that one would think she was still 18, fresh out of the Academy. The small crowd around the ring stared up at her in amazement.

The man approached the scene slowly; once he wormed his way through, his attention snapped to the fallen form by Ursel's legs. He could faintly recognise the young girl. She was around 14, with a big mouth and an unmatchable cockiness; it was obvious how she got herself into this situation. Her eyes were already swollen, and her once perfectly ordinary nose was now a bloody mess. The young girl looked up at Ursel, with a resigned expression, accepting her defeat. But the older woman didn't seem to be satisfied, her expression wry and eyes filled with something every victor could recognise. Bloodlust.

"Enough." echoed Brutus' rough voice through the training room, and everybody fell silent. He marched up to Ursel, and ignoring her protests, he led her away. Once they were out of earshot, he forced her onto an empty bench and stared down at her with a disapproving glance. "What the hell just happened there?"

The old woman began to tremble as her milky blue eyes met his black ones. She looked so fragile and innocent that it was hard to believe she beat up a young girl just moments ago. It felt like scolding a small child, mused Brutus.

Minutes passed; the crowd began to slowly dissipate, but Ursel was yet to speak. Brutus felt his patience running thin. Ever since he won his games, it felt like everybody expected him to be the next head of the Academy, to be like his father. They made him responsible for a lot of things, whether he liked it or not; they gave him power, even though he was still young and inexperienced. It irritated him to no end, and he often found himself in a foul mood because of it. Brutus didn't want to be like his father. He wanted a life as ordinary as possible, he didn't ask for this.

"She didn't take her medication this morning," appeared Lyme out of nowhere. The young woman knelt down in front of the old victor; with soft, soothing words she handed her a glass of water and helped her take her pills.

"Where were you until now?" demanded Brutus. Lyme stood up, her cold stare matching his.

"It's none of your business. I am here now, and she took her medication. She'll calm down. So why don't you just stop fussing around? You're acting like my sister when she's on her period."

Brutus grabbed her upper arm forcefully and dragged her away from Ursel.

"What is your problem!?" Lyme yanked her arm free and backed away from the robust man.

"Keep your _lovely_ grandmother in check, will you? I don't care if she is a victor, she can't just waltz in here! She's 71, for crying out loud. Why can't she leave the training to us?"

"You're just salty, because even at her age she's stronger than you!"

"As if! Have you ever thought about poisoning her or something? We're better off without that crazy old hag!"

"What!? You're insane!"

"She's dangerous, Lyme! She wants blood; she beat that trainee to a pulp!" He swung an arm in the direction of the wrestling ring, exasperation clear in his voice. How was this even possible? An old hag walking around and beating up people was not normal by any standards. "Speaking of which…"

Sending another glare in Lyme's direction, Brutus turned around abruptly and walked back to the ring with hasty steps. He simply couldn't believe how blind the younger woman was; she could love her grandmother, there was nothing wrong with that, but she needed to understand that Ursel was a threat to the ones around her. She went insane a long time ago, but her family couldn't come to terms with it. And if, God forbid, she killed someone, he would be the one held responsible. They better do something about her, thought Brutus, or he was going to take the matter into his own hands.

The girl was still there, sitting alone and staring into thin air as everybody else began to return to their daily routine. Nobody bothered to help her up.

"Enobaria, right?" she turned her chocolate brown eyes in his direction. "Let's get you patched up."

* * *

 **District 3**

 _Ahmose Bishop, 75 years old_

 _Victor of the 1st Hunger Games_

His stomach growled. Every day, from dawn to sunset, he felt the same consummating desire for food. Kopi Luwak coffee, white pearl albino caviar, Ayam Cemani black chicken, moose cheese, wagyu steak… all of these were within arm's length; his fridge was full of greasy, juicy food ready to be eaten, yet he rarely touched them. And when he did eat, he more often than not forced himself to throw up the content of his stomach. He couldn't have lived with himself if he wolfed down the most exotic and expensive foods one could find in Panem, knowing that there were people suffering from malnutrition somewhere out there.

So he sat in his living room every minute of every day staring down at his bony hands, lost in the painful memories of his youth. He rarely left his home, afraid that if he did, he'd have to interact with other people. For decades now, he has been alone, and it was quite alright. He liked the endless silence that surrounded him; he wouldn't have it any other way.

The old man has been around ever since the very beginning. He had the _honor_ of being the first victor in the history of the Hunger Games. He was the hero of District 3, or so they said. But in the safety of his home, he could be his real self: a coward who hates himself for not being able to save more children.

There were a few other victors in his district, Wiress being the latest addition to their small community. They offered to take the mantle from him, to take a burden off his shoulder. He refused to give up on mentoring. He was old; at his age, death could be lurking around every corner, ready to take him away from this cruel world. And the strange thing was, he wasn't afraid. He couldn't wait to leave his life behind; he only had one final wish before that happened: bring back one more.

Save one more tribute, and he'll happily run into death's waiting arms.

* * *

 **District 4**

 _Mags Flanagan, 63 years old_

 _Victor of the 11th Hunger Games_

In the blizzard there was no way to know which direction to go, the usual landmarks were hidden behind the white that swirled so densely. The woman could only hope that she was nearing her destination, and not going farther away from it. She was a fool for not listening to her husband and going out in this weather, but when did she actually listening to other people's warning?

As she took step after step, the crude outline of a large building slowly appeared in her line of sight. It wasn't hard to guess what she was seeing; the Training Center was one of the most extravagant places in District 4, it was hard to miss it.

"Finally…" the wind carried her voice faster than she could speak.

Mags arrived at the building not then minutes later. The moment she stepped in, the warm air hit her frozen form, making her sigh in relief. She took off her snow covered coat, and rubbing her frozen hands together, she walked down on the narrow hallway until she reached the room she was searching for.

 _Room 107._

 _Survival skills._

The woman was expected; an auxiliary staff, a man in his late thirties was the first one to greet her. It has been months since she last saw him and he lost a considerable amount of weight during that time. The stress was eating away at him, quite literally, and it killed Mags to see him like this. She remembered how full of life he was when he was only a toddler, how he forced her to play hide and seek every other weekend, how much he enjoyed the birthday cakes she made him every year… But those days were long gone. Her godson was now a grown man, with his own worries and hardships.

"Marinus Odair, you look awful."

"Nice to see you too," he nodded with an amused smile which didn't quite reach his eyes. The woman looked at him worriedly, she could see the fatigue in his eyes and movements. Seeing Mags' unimpressed expression, Marinus dropped his mask. "I'm… I'm tired Mags. So tired."

"What happened?" she dropped her voice to whisper as she stepped closer, putting a hand on his bony shoulder. She had a feeling she knew what this was all about.

"My daughter, Salacia, she… She just turned 12. She is going to be eligible for the games. She didn't want to enroll in here, she has no training experience. I'm terrified of what might happen to her. And Finnick too. He is only 7 now, but he'll grow up in a blink of an eye. I… I don't want to lose them."

Mags pulled the man into a gentle hug. "Nothing will happen to them. Even if they are reaped, someone will always take their place. And if the impossible happens and there is no volunteer, I'm going to make sure to bring them back alive. You have my word, Marinus."

The man only nodded in response. They stood like this until he calmed down.

"I… I didn't call you over to ramble about my worries," he laughed with a half smile as he stepped back from the hug. With a cough, he nodded in the direction of a large table; there were a couple of woven baskets which she recognised instantly. She made those only last year to demonstrate the technique to the trainees. "Would you mind weaving a basket again?"

"I'm always ready to help, you know that." Patting his back, she smiled warmly at Marinus.

Mags walked over to the table, the trainees surrounded her immediately. They watched in utter silence as she began to weave, explaining every step carefully. She loved children, she always has. She just couldn't fight the urge to help and teach them something new every chance she got.

But there was only one thing that bothered her: those skills she taught, they were going to use them in the Arena instead of using them in their daily lives.

* * *

 **District 5**

 _Li Pollux, 34 years old_

 _Victor of the 39th Hunger Games_

The mother's love she had for her child was the ordinary kind. It's the kind of love that would move heaven and earth for him if she had the power. She loved Shu from the bottom of her heart, but today, she leaned back in her large armchair with a throbbing head and a tired sigh. Asking the little boy to sit down was like asking fire not to burn. His eyes were sparkling, every muscle in his body needed to move, to dance, to jump. He observed and chattered, questions popping up in his head again and again, waiting to be answered.

"I want to go outside!" exclaimed Shu for what felt like the hundredth time in the last ten minutes. Li shook her head, giving him the same response: _you can't now, there is a blizzard outside._

"But I want to go outside!" The boy's angry pout made his mother chuckle in amusement.

There was almost nothing a five year old would find interesting inside their cozy apartment and Li knew it. She and her son came only for a short visit and they were supposed to head back yesterday, but the universe had other plans, it seemed. All of his toys were at home, in the Capitol; it was no wonder he was bored.

Home. She has been living there for 15 years now, but it still felt strange to call that hellhole home. She didn't like that place at all and she definitely didn't like the reason why she had to live there.

At first, she moved there because of her job. Prostitution was not an uncommon thing among the victors. For years, she was used like a toy, then thrown away without a care; if her games didn't broke her, then this certainly did. One day, she found out something unexpected: she was pregnant and she didn't have a clue who the father might be. She loved Shu nevertheless, and when he was finally born, she set out on finding the real father. She just had to know who it was. So for five years, she stayed in the Capitol and searched endlessly, but to no avail.

"Mom?" her eyes fell on her son. He was her spit image. His eyes, hair, nose, lips; every feature matched her's perfectly. The only difference was in their skin color; Li was as white as a sheet, while Shun had a healthy olive skin. "I want to go home…"

"We'll go tomorrow. I promise."

The boy smiled up at Li brightly; he jumped up in her lap and hid his small face in the crook of her neck.

"I love you, mom."

"I love you too." The woman squeezed him tighter with a heavy heart. What would it be like to have an ordinary family? To have a husband and father by their side?

Maybe if she found Shu's biological father, she could give her son a normal family. This idea was far-fetched, but it was still a possibility.

She had to remain strong, just like in the arena, just like every year as she watches her proteges die in the bloodbath. She needed to hold her head high, to go forward, to persevere.

And no matter what, she needed to hope for the best.

* * *

 **District 6**

 _Nirav Honda, 44 years old_

 _Victor of the 31st Hunger Games_

He inhaled slowly. His system responding to the smoke, he felt his lungs being wrapped by a warm blanket. He continued to take small, slow draws of the cigarette. Like a starfish, he was laying down on his bed, staring at the ceiling with glassy eyes, his mind completely blank. In the past, he had a hobby; the paintings hanging on the walls were the proof. He enjoyed the procedure of creating something from nothing; it was as close to magic as one could get. He could express his feelings, worries freely. But it has been decades since he last picked up a brush. His old paintings hung there, covered in dust. The man no longer cared about them.

To paint, you needed to focus on the emotions you bottled up. He didn't want to feel, to think, he realized. He couldn't allow himself to. He just wanted to live in the moment, enjoy the present while he was still breathing. The cigarettes and drugs were his only escape.

"Nirav."

His eyes slowly travelled to the woman's frail form; she leaned against the doorframe, her greasy hair falling in her face. Like a ghost, she stared back at him with hollow eyes. Her white nightgown was too long; as she approached Nirav, she stepped on the delicate fabric, causing her to stumble, before falling on the bed. The man watched from the corner of his eyes as the woman pulled closer, resting her head on his chest.

"Go away." Nirav's monotone voice was followed by silence. "Go away, Tacey. Now."

This Tacey, who was she again? She won the games two years after he did, that much he knew. But for the life of him, he could hardly remember how they met. He wasn't a mentor back then, so how? When did she move in with him? Did they get married or was she his girlfriend? Or were they in a romantic relationship, in the first place?

But… Did he want to remember it?

Nirav looked away from the woman, and stared outside. Dark. Was it night already? The wind howled, piling up snow in drifts.

"What month is it?"

"February."

"You sure?"

"Mhm."

The games were still months away. It didn't matter though, because time will pass in a blink of an eye and he will find himself in the Capitol again, stuck with two kids bound to die a gruesome death. It was the same every year.

He took another small draw of the cigarette; putting it out, he reached for the tablets on his nightstand.

* * *

 **District 7**

 _Blight Forst, 23 years old_

 _Victor of the 53rd Hunger Games_

District 7 was covered in a thick blanket of white, the buildings peeked out from underneath like a child would while playing hide and seek with their parents. Footprints crisscrossed each other around the labyrinth of paths. Most of them were already half covered by a new layer of snow; no one walked around the district during the night. The Peacekeepers didn't allow it.

Usually, that is. There was only one exception.

A single man roamed the deserted streets. His unruly locks were covered with powdered sugar like snow, but he showed no sign of being cold.

Truth be told, Blight liked the night. It gave him comfort; it felt like he was the only man in the world, like he was invincible and nobody could hurt him. On the other hand, he dreaded the daylight. It was too bright; it brought back memories he tried to forget so desperately. When he saw the sun, he saw blood. He didn't want to see anything. He would rather be blind than walk around during the day out of his own free will. This was one of the main reasons why he hated mentoring; there was no way he could avoid the light.

Blight looked around with a half smile. His surroundings were so familiar; his childhood home was only a couple of meters away from him, yet he couldn't go there. He spent most of his nights just standing there, looking at the small house, yet he never approached the front door. He wasn't allowed to.

His family disowned him the moment he volunteered for the 53rd Hunger Games. He didn't do it because of boredom, nor to bring glory to his district. That would've been stupid. He wanted the money. His mother was deadly ill, and the only way he could save her was to volunteer. He needed the money for the treatment, and this was the easiest way to get it. But when Blight came back, his mother was already dead. From that day, his sister refused any kind of financial help and hated him with a passion. She thought that he volunteered to get away from them, to get rid of them. She couldn't have been farther from the truth.

The lights turned on at a neighbouring house; a window opened with a creak and the messy head of a small girl came into view.

"Mom!" she shouted in a sleepy voice. "That freak is here again!"

"Johanna! Keep quiet and shut that window!" came the response of the mother. "You'll wake up the whole neighborhood."

Sure enough, the lights turned on in the other houses too, and Blight's former home was one of them. He couldn't bring himself to walk away; even when he saw his sister march towards him, he remained rooted in the middle of the snowy road.

"What the hell!?" she half-shouted. "Are you a stalker now? Leave us alone for God's sake! You got what you wanted, you are rich now! Go back to your perfect life; how many times do I have to tell you that I don't want to see your face ever again!?"

Blight let her shout, he didn't say a word. She could be angry, she could throw profanities at him left and right, and he wouldn't care in the slightest. He got to see her, and that's all that mattered.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because it hurts. I still care about you and dad. Everything I did, I did for mom."

"Here you go with your lies again!"

One day, she'll see past her prejudice.

* * *

 **District 8**

 _Woof Webster, 57 years old_

 _Victor of the 17th Hunger Games_

District 8 was an urban place stinking of smog, with no greenery in sight, and with rundown tenements built so close to each other that one could see into their neighbor's apartment without a problem. It was definitely not a place for keeping a pet. But Woof had a dog anyway. To him, Manu was the sun; he brought happiness in the man's gloomy life. He didn't have the time to think about the bloody events of the past.

Woof sat on a kitchen stool, enjoying his steaming morning coffee. He tried to, at least. Manu had his big round eyes fixed on him. His eyebrows twitched from side to side in that way he did when he was trying to figure something out and it just wasn't working for him. For a mutt of uncertain parentage he was pure cuteness overload. And now that Woof wanted nothing more than to drink coffee and relax, Manu had other thoughts. He wanted a walk, a long one at that. Then, as if he could read his owner's mind, his tail started to wag; he went loopy, racing victory laps around the kitchen.

Woof shook his head in amusement as he put on his boots and grabbed Manu's leash, his drink long forgotten. Within moments they were out of the house, in the cold winter weather. They jogged down the street to keep themselves warm.

There weren't many people outside, only a couple of Peacekeepers here and there. When they passed the old factory Woof used to work at during his younger years, they heard the excited laughter of children.

"Look, it's Manu!"

Within seconds, they were surrounded by a small crowd; fragile hands pat Manu's head and the animal barked in joy. He was really popular among the children.

"Can I hold his leash?"

"No, you held it last time! It's my turn!"

"No, it's mine!"

Woof smiled friendly at the youngsters and his eyes fell on the only silent one. She didn't yell like the others, she simply stood there, running her cold hands through Manu's soft fur. The young girl looked up at Woof's large form with a grin.

"Hi, mister! Aren't you cold?"

The man looked at the thin layer of clothes he threw on haphazardly. Woof shook his head, almost sheepishly. As he eyed the girl, he noticed the unmistakable love in her eyes when she looked at Manu. A thought crossed Woof's mind then; this year, he wanted Cecelia to take care of Manu while he was away mentoring.

"Here."

Her eyes sparkled with joy as she took the leash from the man. "Thank you!"

* * *

 **District 9**

 _Vilja Miller, 36 years old_

 _Victor of the 40th Hunger Games_

Dust covered everything in the basement, her secret library. Spiderwebs wove loosely around books, shelves and stands; the floor was littered with books, thorn paper and dirt. As she walked further into the dimly lit room, a shiver run down her spine. The heater broke weeks ago, but she couldn't find the time to do something about it.

Vilja's eyes travelled across the shelves; they were all full of books she collected during the years. But if one looked closely, they could see a couple of them with handwritten covers and poor binding. Those were her work. She wrote stories of love, fear, hope, death… The stories of her fallen tributes. Every year, a new one was added to her collection. She reread them every month, trying to pinpoint and learn from her mistakes. People said she was a good mentor, she managed to bring back more than a couple of children to their families, but it wasn't good enough. She wasn't satisfied; she needed more victories, she needed to save more lives.

After searching for a couple of minutes, she finally found the book she was looking for. _The 57th Hunger Games_ was written on its cover in her sloppy handwriting. With a satisfied half smile she walked back upstair and sat down in one of her armchairs. It was a surprise, that last year the Head Gamemaker wasn't executed. This year, he will design the Arena agian, which meant that the concept might be similar. From her experience, Vilja knew that every Head Gamemaker had a particular style. She'd better study last year's games thoroughly, and she just might be able to figure out a good enough strategy and bring a child back.

She took an empty notebook and pen from the coffee table, ready to begin taking notes, when she heard the front door open, then close with a loud thud.

"I'm back!"

"I'm in the living room." shouted back Vilja. The soft footsteps of the other woman approached her from behind. She hugged the victor briefly before throwing herself in the other armchair and rubbing her upper arms with a shiver.

"Ah, I can't wait for summer!" noticing the dark look the former victor was sending her way, she quickly added, "Because of the heat, I mean! You know how much I hate the cold!"

A long sigh escaped Vilja's lips. Her sister often spoke before thinking.

"We should do something about that heater…"

"I'll take care of it tomorrow."

"You've been saying that for weeks now!"

Vilja ignored Enya's last comment, bringing an end to this topic. She turned back her attention to her book and notebook.

"Vilja…" began her sister in a timid voice. "Why are you so determined?"

The woman was silent for a while. In her mind, she relived her games and the events that led up to it. All those hopeless moments she had been through.

"Because my mentor wasn't; he couldn't care less about us. It was sheer luck I made it out alive. I don't want to be like him. I want to be a good person."

* * *

 **District 10**

 _Anselm Appa, 19 years old_

 _Victor of the 56th Hunger Games_

Clown. A comic entertainer, especially one in a circus, wearing a traditional costume and exaggerated make-up. Anselm wasn't entirely sure where he read that definition, but it actually didn't matter. What did matter was the fact that he has been feeling like a clown for the past two years. From the moment he left the Arena, he was forced to take on a role: an expressive dancer. He hated it. He had to move his body to the likes of the Capitol, wear make-up so thick that at some point his face became permanently numb to any kind of touch… He was the laughingstock of District 10.

For his birthday, Anselm was allowed to return home for a short visit. He locked himself up in his house, not wanting to see the amusement and pity in other people's eyes. The only one he interacted with was his brother, his only living family member; but even Berach couldn't keep a straight face while talking to him.

"So, Ansi… tell me something about the Capitol," grinned his older brother during dinner, completely oblivious about Anselm's foul mood.

"There's nothing to tell," grunted the younger brother, popping another piece of fresh bread into his mouth.

"There's bound to be something. I've been watching your performances. You're becoming better!"

"Berach. Stop."

Anselm studied Berach with a unreadable expression, wondering what happened to his nice and overprotective sibling. So many things have changed between the two of them in the last two years. When they were still in the orphanage, they stuck together and protected each other; they never fought, and they most certainly never made fun of the other.

"When will be your next show?"

"Stop."

"You know, one of my biggest dreams is to go to one of your performances!"

"Berach!" Anselm's chair fell backwards with a loud squeak, and he towered over the table with a menacing glare. The older brother leaned back with wide eyes and gulped in fear; it was rare to see the usually stoic Anselm lose his calm. In that moment he, admittedly, was scared for his life. "What part of 'stop' you don't understand!?"

"Anselm…" began Berach in a shaky voice, but Anselm didn't let him continue. He had enough.

"Where was this amusement of yours two years ago when I was reaped? When the District 7 guy almost cut my head off with his axe!?"

"Anselm, I… I'm sorry okay?"

"I let you live off of my money for the last two years." A low growl escaped his lips as he leaned over the table and grabbed Berach by the front of his shirt. "And what do I get in return? You making fun of me. Do you think that I like it!? I hate it, Berach! I hate it and I have no other choice but to continue being a clown! You know why?"

"W..Why?"

"Because if I don't, the president threatened to kill you. I made myself the laughingstock of District 10 to protect you!"

With that, Anselm shoved his brother back in his chair. He straightened his back, taking long breaths to calm his nerves. An awkward silence followed the younger brother's outburst; neither of them spoke. One of them because of the fear and shock, the other because of the anger that was still eating away at him.

The silence was interrupted by someone knocking at the front door in an urgent manner. Anselm marched over with a foul expression; he didn't have many neighbors. Actually, he only had one, his former mentor. What did he want now?

"What!?" Anselm threw the door open, but instead of the old man standing on his porch, it was his daughter. She trembled uncontrollably, and tears were threatening to fall every minute now. The young man raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"I… I need your help! Now! My father, he…" she managed between sobs. "He's dead!"

"What!?" before he could process her words, she was already dragging him to the neighboring house; a shiver run down his spine from the chilly air. Anselm soon found himself in the hall with his former mentor laying on the wooden floor; his hollow eyes stared at him unseeing, his skin was ghostly white and his open lips were already turning purple.

Anselm could barely register the woman's mournful cries, he was lost in his own thoughts. His earlier anger and the discovery of his former mentor's death left him numb.

He was the only victor left in District 10.

He'll be the mentor starting this year.

* * *

 **District 11**

 _Seeder Kerner, 44 years old_

 _Victor of the 32nd Hunger Games_

District 11 was one of the few districts with a relatively warmer climate; the weather being comfortably warm while blizzards were raging in other regions. It was perfect. Seeder sat on her porch; her eyes fixed on the sky as she leaned back and inhaled the clean air. In moments like these, she could forget the horrors of the past, and be truly at peace.

She looked at the large mansions lining up on both sides of the wide street. Only a couple of them were inhabited, and Seeder couldn't help but wonder what it would be like if every citizen in District 11 could afford to live like this. It was a beautiful vision, but with how things were going on at the moment, it could never become a reality.

"Mom!"

Seeder was yanked back to reality by her oldest daughter's ringing voice. She turned around just in time to see Soya open the door abruptly, her feminine figure towering over Seeder's sitting form. It seemed like only yesterday that the girl run around the house half naked screaming how she didn't want to take a bath. Now she was all grown up, a young and beautiful woman ready to take over the world.

Seeder smiled at the thought.

"Yes?"

Soya sat down beside her mother with a wide grin across her features. "I'm going over to Chaff's place. I won't be home until dinner."

With that, she was already up, ready to run across the street to her destination. Seeder grabbed her daughter's wrist as she stood up in a hurry; she looked at Soya with eyebrows raised in disbelief.

"What? You're going to meet up with Chaff?"

"Yes?" answered Soya, but it turned out more like a question than a statement.

They were dating, Seeder was certain about that now. She just had to look at the happy glint in her daughter's eyes whenever the man was mentioned, or at the way she was dressed now. She wasn't happy about this turn of events, but she had to accept that Soya was in a relationship with a man who loved his drink. And she had to accept that yes, there was a gap of 8 years between them.

"Ah… Okay. You should bring him over for dinner sometime."

"Will do!"

She finally let go of Soya's hand, and the younger woman walked away with quick steps and a wide smile, turning around once to wave at her mother. Seeder sighed as she sat back down. She couldn't control her life any longer. She was 20 years old and she survived every Reaping. Now, she was responsible for her own decisions. At the end of the day, it didn't matter what Seeder thought about Chaff. That he was a good person, but not good enough for her daughter.

"Mom!"

Seeder shook her head as yet another voice yelled from inside. She should let her oldest daughter be, and worry about things she could actually do something about. Like taking care of her younger children who were of reaping age.

And most importantly, she should worry about mentoring.

* * *

 **District 12**

 _Haymitch Abernathy, 24 years old_

 _Victor of the 50th Hunger Games_

Living in isolation was just as bad as one would think. He didn't have any neighbors around to worry about; he was left alone with his darkest thoughts and every day seemed like it would be his last. He wanted to die, to finally be at peace. Because as long as he lived, his conscience wouldn't let him be. 47 other children and his loved ones died all because he wanted to return home. He was so selfish back then. He should've died so others could live. And even after all this time, he kept disappointing people by being an incompetent mentor.

Haymitch truly believed that he was a failure. And the ones around him didn't help with his negative self image one bit; if anything, they only reassured him in his beliefs. People avoided him, there was no one he could talk to. His drink was his only friend, and maybe it was better this way. At least the president couldn't threaten him with the lives of his nonexistent friends. Haymitch lost interest in life itself. Everything he did, he did out of habit; he no longer cared.

Like going out to buy food he was sure he wouldn't eat.

"Get outta my way!" he shouted as he stumbled down the street in a drunken stupor. He was ignored for the most part, save for one or two confused glances from the younger children. There was a bag in his right hand and a half empty bottle of alcohol in his left. He put his legs one after the other, but the footprints he left in the snow weren't in a straight line.

After moments of struggling he finally found the place he was looking for, and with great effort he ascended the slippery stairs to the door of the shop. As he stepped inside, he let out a loud groan, welcoming the warmth of the room. The smell of fresh bread hit his nostrils.

"Hello, Haymitch!" greeted the woman behind the front desk politely. The man only nodded in response. "The usual?"

Another nod, and the woman was already packing up two loaves of bread neatly. Haymitch watched as she worked; she hummed a tune he couldn't quite recognise and a small smile appeared on her lips as her hands occasionally rested on her slightly round belly. He would've been a fool not to notice.

"You're pregnant."

The woman was taken aback by his sudden statement, but she quickly recovered. She nodded at Haymitch with an innocent glint in her eyes, one that only mothers could have.

"Boy or girl?" he asked curtly.

"Boy. My third son."

"Let's just hope he won't be reaped," he grunted as he payed and grabbed the package.

She was a fool and she will soon realise her mistake. After her sons become of reaping age, she will no longer be so cheerful. Having a child in this world, let alone three, only led to grief and sorrow. There was nothing beautiful about being a parent. You'd needed to have all the luck in the world for you child not to be reaped; not to talk about surviving the games. Everybody expected him to do miracles, but he wasn't a magician. Almost everything depended on the reaped child, he couldn't waltz into the Arena and protect them with his own life.

Haymitch exited the Mellark bakery with a single thought in his cloudy mind.

He would never father a child.

* * *

 **A/N:** Once again, I'm really sorry for the long wait! This chapter turned out to be almost 7500 words long, I hope it makes up for it!

What are your thoughts about the mentors? Who was your favorite? (And yes, the mentor for District 6 is the male morphling, I just gave him a name:D )

Next time we'll return to Dragan and Cleopatra, and after that the reapings will finally start!

 **~Nessie**


	4. Ch 2: Imperial Extravaganza

**~Chapter Two~**

 **Imperial Extravaganza**

* * *

 _Cleopatra Imperial, 29 years old_

A list of 35 or so names with datas and short biographies. Barely half an hour to memorize them. Cleopatra had her job cut out for her.

The woman sat cross legged on her bed and glared at the papers laying haphazardly in front of her; she run her right hand through her blue locks in frustration while she rubbed her belly with the other. It was April; her due date was nearing fast, only one week and she could finally hold her daughter in her arms. She was tired, hungry and even the smallest things irritated her. And on the top of that, in 30 minutes her home will be flooded with people she knew nothing about. The annual feast for potential sponsors was the only thing she hated about her husband's job. The Head Gamemaker was expected to hold it every year, but Cleopatra simply couldn't come to terms with it. What was the point of the event, if the sponsors were most likely never going to meet each other again?

There was only one logical explanation. She had to memorize all these people because the universe hated her.

She run over the list again and again, but to no avail. She couldn't concentrate, not when she could feel her little one moving around restlessly.

The bedroom door opened and Dragan came in with silent steps. He was dressed in an elegant golden suit which strangely harmonized with his pink hair. He wore make-up, something Cleopatra rarely saw on her husband. She fell in love yet again.

The man sat down at the edge of the bed, taking his wife's hand in his. Cleopatra let out a long sigh and rested her forehead on his shoulder.

"Everything is ready for our guests."

"Good."

The woman saw from the corner of her eyes how Dragan took the list with the names in his hand. He hummed in thought before putting it back.

"Why can't they be the same as last year?" pouted Cleopatra as she raised her head to look in his eyes. "It was hell trying to memorize them back then too. And now this? Look at their names! They are too unique, are they even real ones?"

Dragan chuckled at his wife's frustration. "Yes, they are. Just try to do your best, okay? I won't force you to know every detail, just try to remember the most essential things. Like their names and age, the basics. Can you do that?"

After a couple of moments, she nodded with a small smile. "I'll try."

Dragan planted a loving kiss on her forehead, before standing up. "I'll leave you to it. I'll be in the ballroom if you need me." With that, he was gone within moments.

Cleopatra sometimes forgot that they lived in a mansion. She was born into a family with a poorer socioeconomic status; in her childhood, they used to live in an apartment at the outskirts of the Capitol. It wasn't too extravagant by the Capitol standards, but it was a million times better than what the districts had.

The woman turned her attention back to the papers. She picked up the papers which held the most important informations; at least what she deemed as important; and threw the other ones on the ground. She could do this.

Cleopatra looked over the list once again, with much more determination than before.

...

She entered the ballroom one hour after the party began; being fashionably late. All eyes turned towards her fragile form dressed in a caramel colored simple gown. She wore flats instead of high heels, the small diamonds on her dress beamed in the light, and the soft fabric and nude make-up made her look like an angel. It wasn't her most beautiful outfit, but it was comfortable, and that's what a pregnant woman needed in her ninth month.

She looked around the room, trying to recall the names of the guests. The woman winced in discomfort when she realized that she remembered only about half of them.

"Smile," appeared Dragan beside her seemingly out of nowhere. He took Cleopatra's hand in his, leading her away from the entrance. The guests turned their attention away from her, but she knew that the other women were already gossiping about her. Their postures and disgusted expressions gave it away almost immediately.

"The president is here too," whispered Dragan in Cleopatra's ear in a worried tone, all the while maintaining his polite smile and confident appearance.

"What!?" She looked at her husband in disbelief. "What do you mean? He shouldn't be here!"

"Shh. Others might hear you."

"S-sorry," she stuttered as she looked around, but it seemed that nobody heard them. The woman squeezed Dragan's hand tighter.

"I don't know why, but he just showed up all of a sudden without any kind of warning. And when I greeted him he… he was polite, Cleopatra. He didn't have that venomous smile or the sardonic glint in his eyes. He was _nice_. It was terrifying."

"I can't believe this." She instinctively raised her free hand to her lips. She just couldn't comprehend why President Snow showed up at their party, why he was acting so out of character. The woman looked around the ballroom with bold movements, her eyes searching for one particular person. After moments of searching, she finally spotted him. President Coriolanus Snow stood tall among the crowd of sponsors, his eyes fixed on the couple. A shiver run down her spine.

"You should greet him too," managed Dragan between gritted teeth.

"I know," she sighed in irritation.

The two approached the president with cautious steps. Snow straightened his back, making him look even more menacing. His unnaturally white hair practically shined in the light and, like always, a white rose was present in the pocket of his suit coat.

"Good evening, Mr. President," said Cleopatra with a hospitable smile. "To what do we owe the _honor_ of your presence?"

The woman took a step backwards with wide eyes; her mouth hung open in sheer horror as she realized her mistake. Her sarcastic undertone didn't go unnoticed by the two men. The president fixed the couple with a blank expression, and Cleopatra immediately regretted showing up at the party.

"Mr. President!" Dragan stepped forward with a shaky voice and a stiff back. "Please excuse my wife's inappropriate greeting. We had a fight prior to this party and she must be still upset."

"Don't worry about petty things, Dragan."

Dragan began to discuss his progress on this year's Arena with the president, trying desperately to change the subject; but that unreadable look never left the president's eyes.

...

The guests left around midnight, leaving behind a mess so big that Cleopatra was sure the Avoxes will have to clean for days. This, however, was the least of her concerns.

"What were you thinking!?" yelled Dragan more out of panic than anger. He walked in circles in their living room so fast, that it was a miracle he wasn't dizzy yet. The woman hid her face behind her hands as she sat down on the leather couch.

"I-I don't know. I didn't want to sound so sarcastic!" And it was true. Those words just slipped out before she could register what she was doing. "I did not want to offend him."

"I thought he was going to kill us on the spot. But he acted so…?" The man ran a hand through his pink locks tiredly as he threw himself on the couch too. "I can't understand that man."

"Neither can I."

"Just… Let's not do it again."

"I'll keep my mouth shut the next time I see him."

* * *

 **A/N:** Hi~! Here we have another chapter with our Capitolites! I'm halfway done with the District 1 reaping so starting from the next chapter, your tributes will get the spotlight instead of Dragan and Cleopatra!

If you want to submit, there are still a couple of slots left; and if you reserved a slot make sure to send your tribute in when you have the time!

Stay tuned!

 **~Nessie**


	5. Ch 3: Trouble in paradise

**~Chapter Three~**

 **Trouble in paradise**

 **\- District 1 -**

* * *

 _ **Amethyst "Amy" Everly, 17**_

 _2 weeks before Reaping Day_

Amy tried to keep her eyes open; she really did, but it was harder than anyone would expect. She laid down on one of the hard wooden benches in the training room, one of her arms tucked under her head as a pillow, the other hanging carelessly in the air. Her position was far from comfortable, but she simply didn't care. Her body was numb and sore from the vigorous training schedule, her mind screamed at her to get some rest. The voices of her fellow trainees turned into a lulling background music as she slowly drifted into unconsciousness.

It didn't last long, however. The girl was crudely awoken when someone grabbed her hanging arm and pulled her off her sleeping spot. Amy hit the floor with a loud thud, she blinked a couple of times to clear her cloudy mind before looking around for the culprit. She looked up at the slim figure towering over her.

"Why…?" the other person just stared back at her with an amused glint in their eyes. She pulled herself together and stood up, now standing eye to eye with the other girl; her blond bangs falling into her eyes as she grinned at Amy.

"Why not?"

"Anastasia Jewel. I hate you." glared Amy, but she couldn't contain her smile for long. She shook her head and rubbed her sore hip as they burst out laughing. "For real now, Ana. Why?"

"If I didn't wake you up, someone else would have. And I don't think that you'd be thrilled if your father found out about you slacking off during training."

As much as she hated to admit it, Ana was right. Her father was next door, in the neighboring training room; she could practically hear his impatient voice through the thin walls. The man was a victor, a proud one at that. He raised Amy to be a victor, laziness wasn't tolerated. The girl has been training for so long that she couldn't really remember a time when she wasn't surrounded by knives, swords, spears or other weapons.

"I wasn't slacking off."

"Mhm. Sure."

Amy followed Ana with quick steps as they returned to the training stations. She was still tired; her sore muscles screamed in protest as she hoisted herself up to the wrestling ring with a yawn. The two girls stood face to face, doing their warming up routine.

"So you're going to be this year's volunteer, huh?" asked Amy as she touched her toes with ease.

"Right. I still can't believe it, though," grinned the girl with a confidence only a future volunteer could have.

And Amy couldn't believe it either. She has known Ana since they were little and she knew better than anyone that the girl was not victor material. She lacked in too many areas and wasn't exceptional in any of them. She simply couldn't understand why the victors chose her. As Amy studied her best friends with a thoughtful expression, she imagined her laying in a pool of blood with her head bashed in. She shivered at the thought.

...

Lunch break was something the trainees easily forgot about. They were too determined and focused on training to sit down and enjoy a meal; every minute spent not training was a waste of time. Truth be told, there were times when Amy forgot about it too. But today, leaving her friend to her training, she made sure to go to the canteen. She began to drool the moment she stepped inside the room and saw all the people wolfing down on today's specialty, but she couldn't think about eating yet; she had something more important to do.

The girl looked around, spotting her father sitting alone in the farthest corner of the room. She approached him with soft steps, like a feline would its prey. Amy sat down across her father, the man looked up with a questioning glance.

"What are you doing here?" He raised an eyebrow as he swallowed and popped another piece of heavily seasoned stake in his mouth. "You should be training."

"I know. I'll grab a bite and go back in a minute, but I need to ask you something." She leaned forward with a straight back, her elbows resting on the cold surface of the table. Amy's father looked at her with a calculating stare before sighing.

"I think I know what this is all about." She remained silent, waiting for her father to give her an explanation, a reason, anything that'd answer the only question that's been circling in her mind since earlier: why was Anastasia chosen as this year's tribute. "It's about your friend, isn't it?"

"Yeah," she nodded softly. "Why would you pick her out of all the other candidates?"

"At first the committee wanted to chose you, but they changed their mind. You're one of the most talented trainees and with another year of training the Games will be a child's play for you."

"So basically…" she began slowly, trying to process his words. "What you're saying is that… You're sending her to death just to give me one more year of training?"

"Yes," he said without missing a beat.

"I… I see."

"The male volunteer is quite strong this year, so you don't have to worry. Even if she dies, we'll still win."

Amy fell silent; she barely noticed as her father stood up and left her alone with a small wave and a cheerful smile. She was lost in her own thoughts, the bloody image of a dead Ana haunted her. It wasn't fair to the 18 year old girl; they were sacrificing her for a _greater good_.

The girl lost her appetite altogether. As she walked back to the training room, little by little a plan was forming in her mind. One, that should remain secret to everyone else until the reaping. The moment she entered the Academy, she knew that she'd eventually need to volunteer; her persistent father did everything he could to make sure about that. Whether she likes it or not, being part of the Games, bringing glory to her district was her destiny.

So what difference does a year make if the outcome is still the same? So what if she volunteers now instead of next year?

 ** _Sly Tilver, 18_**

 _1 week before Reaping Day_

Stare. That's all Sly did these days, beside training that is. He stared at only one person in particular, at his future partner; he didn't even bother to hide it, it was a miracle that Anastasia hasn't noticed it yet. Sly didn't really know the 18 years old girl, and certainly didn't plan on going up to her and make friends. They'll have more than enough time to form a plan in the Capitol. So then, why was he staring at her so intensely every chance he got? The answer was simple, really: with her bright smiles, her confident pattern of speech and body language, Anastasia reminded him of someone.

Someone he held close, but was brutally taken away from him...

"Sly, please, stop staring." Sly reluctantly teared his eyes away from his future partner's form, focusing his attention on the petite girl beside him. Her eyebrows were furrowed, something he rarely saw on her, and she glared at him with a peculiar look in her deep blue eyes. "I'm getting jealous."

"Why?" He raised an eyebrow in question, a half smile playing on his lips. "You shouldn't be. I thought you knew me better than that, Sapphire." Sly sneaked an arm around her shoulders, holding her close he gave her a quick peck on the lips.

She stared at him with calculating eyes for what felt like ages, but in the end she just sighed in defeat. "Yeah, but I'm still uncomfortable."

Their cosy moment was crudely interrupted by an awkward cough; they looked at the boy standing only a couple of feet away leaning against a spear lazily. Marvel has been his best friend since they were 3 years old, or maybe younger, Sly didn't really know. They have been inseparable for as long as he could remember; and even now, when Sly was already dating someone, Marvel was still beside him. But being a third wheel sometimes did irritate him.

"You? Uncomfortable? You should put yourself in my shoes; I have to stand here and watch you act all lovey-dovey. Cut me some slack, will you?" The couple simply chuckled at his antics which made Marvel roll his eyes. With an amused smile he continued, "Just… Go back to training. Please."

And they did. Another quick kiss, and Sapphire followed Marvel back to the spear throwing station. Sly remained rooted to his spot; now left alone, his earlier thoughts returned. His eyes found Anastasia's slim figure almost instantly. She wasn't alone. She had her back turned towards him and from this angle, the girl Anastasia was talking to noticed him easily. He knew who she was, the prodigy of the Academy, Amethyst Everly. He heard some strange rumors about her, they said that she'll be the volunteer next year only because of her father. But either way, he couldn't care less about her.

That's why he narrowed his eyes in suspicion when Amy whispered something to Anastasia and started to jog in his direction.

"Hey!" she smiled up sweetly at Sly, but he just crossed his arms and took a step back. She was in his personal space.

"Hey."

"Congratulations on being chosen as the male volunteer!"

Sly looked around the training room; he felt like everybody was watching his interaction with this girl. It wasn't everyday that they saw him talking to others beside his girlfriend and best friend. "Thanks."

"I saw you training, you're really talented. It seems like being strong runs in the fam-"

Two things happened simultaneously: Amy covered her mouth with both of her hands stiffly, while Sly turned around without a second glance, his nails digging into his palm.

...

Sly had a vague idea about what a prison was; a building where people were held as a punishment for a crime they committed, something that no longer exists in today's society. But some of its remnants remained intact, something people often did there was still popular among the poorer citizens of District 1 who, despite their lack of money, wanted to look just as fashionable as the others.

Tattoos. Prison-style tattoos to be more exact. He heard about it from Marvel, he got his own only a couple of weeks ago. At first, Sly wasn't sure if he should get one too, but after his one sided conversation with Amy he made up his mind. He was not poor, quite the opposite actually; he was the mayor's son, part of the wealthiest families in the district. He could've gotten a professional one, but there was something more appealing about prison-style tattoos. He _wanted_ one.

Sly approached the house Marvel was talking about. It was shady by every definition, but he couldn't care less. He walked in with confidence, stared at the middle aged man with determination and said a single word. Or rather, a name: Lulu.

Everybody has something that would be better left forgotten, but sometimes it's not possible. Sly couldn't forget, he didn't want to. The pain of this memory drove him to excel, to train every day like a madman. It was his last year, he needed to do this right.

He had to avenge his dead sister.

 _ **Amista Beaufort, 22**_

 _District 1 Mentor_

 _Reaping Day_

"Amista. I… I think you should calm down…"

"No! The only thing I need is a big ass axe to slice his abdomen open and cut his intestines into microscopic pieces!"

To say that the 22 years old victor was angry was an understatement. She was mad; she was beyond mad. She was so happy this morning, before the Reaping began. She could physically feel her heart beating at an inhuman speed whenever her thoughts wandered to her job; she couldn't wait to do something for her district again. Her job was to focus on the boy, Sly, and get him out of there in the shortest amount of time; she couldn't care less about the girl. But a world broke inside of her when instead of Anastasia one of the most talented trainees launched forward. And to make everything worse, she was fucking Bradwell Everly's daughter.

That's why she was storming down the large hallways of the Justice Building, her fierce eyes searching for one particular man. Bradwell disappeared right after the ceremony was over which made her even more irritated.

"Where is he? Where did he go!?"

"Amista!" tried again Jun with a much firmer tone, barely able to keep up with the woman's speed. After a couple of failed attempts, he finally grabbed her arm; she turned around in a split second, glaring daggers at her friend. "There's nothing you can do now! She volunteered before Anastasia in front of at least two dozen of cameras. She is the tribute!"

"I don't care! One way or another, I'll kill that man!"

Amista wiggled in his gasp, but it was no use, she couldn't free herself from Jun's steel like grip. The man clicked his tongue in frustration before grabbing Amista by her shoulders and pushing her against the pure white wall.

"What's gotten into you!?"

The victor looked at Jun with wide eyes. Her heart ached when she saw his worried expression; but could she reveal the true reason behind her anger? Should she? She dropped her head and squeezed her eyes shut.

"Talk to me... Please."

"Jun," she took in a shaky breath, but refused to look up at him. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

Amista peaked up at him from behind her blond curtain-like hair; he was dead serious. For a moment she hesitated, but in the end she rose her head, and resting it against the cold surface of the wall, she looked Jun in the eyes.

"Fine," she began in a monotone. "The moment the committee announced their decision, I've been searching for sponsors. For Sly. I was fucking every single sponsor candidate for the last two weeks, I can barely walk or sit! I told them that the female tribute will be useless this year. That they should focus more on the male. And now this? Amethyst is a way better fighter than him! What do you think the Capitol will think of me now!? They'll think I'm a liar, they'll look down on me! They won't want me anymore, they won't need me anymore! I'll lose my job! All because of _his_ daughter!"

Without realizing it, Amista rose her voice to a point where she was almost screaming. Something wet was streaming down her cheeks.

"But…" stutter Jun seeing her disturbed expression. "What's so bad about losing your job? So what if your not a prostitute anymore?"

"I told you that you wouldn't understand." The victor rubbed her eyes and nose roughly before breaking free from the man's grasp. She took a couple of wobbly steps before looking over her shoulder. "If I lose it… My life would no longer have a purpose."

Amista turned away from her friend, and with void eyes and a soul that felt just as empty, she walked down the hallway. She continued to search for Bradwell; alone, because Jun never followed her.

 _ **Amethyst "Amy" Everly, 17**_

 _District 1 Tribute_

 _Reaping Day_

For the first time in two weeks a relieved sigh left the girl's lips. She sat in one of the large armchairs, her head resting comfortably against its back and her legs crossed at her ankles. Amy allowed herself a small smile as she thought back at the ceremony. It was sheer luck that she made it to the podium first; if she was only a millisecond slower, it would have been Ana sitting in the very chair she was now occupying. But Amy was here now, that's all that mattered.

The 17 years old wasn't left alone for a long time. Her heart was still beating fast from the earlier excitement when the door opened revealing her parents. The two looked as astonishing as ever which, if she wanted to be honest with herself, intimidated her. The way they looked at her, with such pride, made her uncomfortable, but Amy quickly covered her discomfort with a confident grin. Was this really the only way to make her parents, her district proud?

"Here you are, my little victor!" laughed her mother as she enveloped Amy in a bone breaking hug. "We are so proud of you!"

The girl pushed away her mother gently, fixing her purple summer dress. She put a lot of thought into her outfit, she knew how important appearances were to the Capitol. She brushed her curly locks out of her face before facing her parents again.

"I know!"

"I have to say, you took me by surprise." Her father put his hands on his hips as he eyed her. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you volunteered. But I still think it would've been better if you stayed another year in the Academy."

Amy gulped, but held her head high; she couldn't possibly tell her father her real reason.

"I've trained for over one decade, what difference does a year make? Just like you said, I'm the best."

Her father embraced her with a satisfied grin. Amy sighed internally, she chose the right words as to not make her parents suspicious. The victor and his wife stayed another couple of minutes with their daughter; making sure Amy knew how proud they were, the two eventually left. Her smile dropped the moment the door closed.

The girl was left alone again, but she barely had the time to take two steps around the room and breath before the door burst open again. Like a hurricane, Amy was only able to catch a glimpse of blood red fabric before something hard connected with her right cheek, making her head fly in the opposite direction. She soon found herself pushed into the armchair she was relaxing in earlier; a slim hand grabbed her perfectly styled hair and forced her to look up.

Amy winced in pain and her stomach twisted in knots the moment her eyes met eerily familiar ones.

"Bitch! What have you done!?"

"Ana-" The enraged girl yanked Amy's head, instantly shutting her up.

"Don't you dare open your mouth! Traitor! I trusted you! You know damn well how much I worked for this and you took it away from me without a second thought! There is no next year for me! You took my glory! Mine!" screamed the older girl as she grabbed Amy's hair with both hands this time, and pulled her to the ground.

Amy fell hard on her hands and knees, but she pressed her lips together, refusing to make any kind of noise. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Ana raise a fist, but at the same time the door slammed open and two Peacekeepers marched into the small room; they grabbed the screaming teenager by her arms and forcefully dragged her outside.

"I hate you! I hate you!"

Amy heard her voice fading by the minute. She gathered herself from the ground and stood up; her best friend hated her. But she saved her from death, while simultaneously pleasing her parents and stepping on a road which will lead to her glorious return.

All in all, she made the right decision.

 ** _Sly Tilver, 18_**

 _District 1 Tribute_

 _Reaping Day_

"You have to come back."

"That's what I'm planning to do."

"I'm serious, Sly." The girl refused to tear her eyes from Sly's deep blue ones. The boy saw as her lips trembled and her shoulders heaved with emotion, unwilling to back down. Her hand clenched into fists in a desperate battle against her own tears. Sly tilted his head to the side, taking in his girlfriend's appearance; he had never seen her this fragile "I lost my friend only last year. I'm not going to lose my boyfriend too."

"You won't." Sly stepped closer, cupping her soft cheeks in his large, bear-like palms. He rested his forehead against her's, his gaze radiating determination.

"When I…" she sobbed, trying to get hold of her emotions. "When I saw you on the stage today, I caught a glimpse of the old Sly. You were so charming and confident, just like one year ago. When you come back, I want to see you happy again. I want to see the old Sly."

He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. Deep down he knew all too well that he'll never be the same person as one year ago. Not after he watched his sister meet her dire end. Still, he had to give Sapphire hope; she couldn't break down because of this, she had to stay strong especially if the worst comes to the worst…

Sly sneaked his arms around her form, but she pushed him away without a second thought. "No… don't hug me like that. This is not 'goodbye', it's a 'see you later'."

Sly stepped back; putting his hands in his pockets, he nodded understandingly. They stood in silence for what felt like an eternity before the Peacekeeper told them that their time was up. Sapphire simply turned around and left, but she barely stepped out of the room when his next visitor came.

Marvel waltzed in like he owned the place. He looked around without a care in the world and flopped down on the armchair Sly didn't even think about occupying. He'd rather stand for a little while longer, he'll have enough time to sit until they reach the Capitol.

"I see you still have that bandage on," observed Marvel as he spread his legs and crossed his arms. Sly glanced down at his right arm, the white cloth stood out against his tanned skin. His new tattoo was still sensitive; Sly wasn't sure if it was normal or not, so he just hummed noncommittally.

"We've known each other for how long?"

"Since forever," shrugged Marvel.

"Then promise me one thing. Take care of Sapphire."

"Of course. When you come back, she'll be just as healthy as she's now."

"No, Marvel. That's not what I meant."

The boy's eyes darkened as he looked Sly up and down, silently judging him. Sly shivered under his friend's cold gaze; they may have been friends for their whole lives, but there were sides of Marvel he would rather not see.

Marvel stood up, but he didn't budge from his spot beside the armchair. "Don't even think about it! You didn't train like a madman only to die a pitiful death. You have a good mentor, you have a plan."

Yes, it was true. But he had been more confident before the ceremony, because there was a plot twist Sly had yet to process. Never in a million years would've he imagined that Amethyst will steal this chance from her best friend; and he really wouldn't have cared if it didn't mean that he got a tougher competition. That girl was the daughter of a victor, she was someone he had to look out for.

The tribute furrowed his brows. "There is still a possibility of me not returning. We both know that."

Marvel reluctantly nodded, but his frown never disappeared. He simply walked over to Sly and trapped him in a bear hug. Sly felt as his friend slipped something in his pocket before stepping back.

"Just play it safe."

After an encouraging pat on the shoulder, Marvel was escorted out by a Peacekeeper. When the door closed, Sly immediately put his hand in his pocket and checked the object his friends put there. He knew this shape all too well.

A locket.

A locket with a picture of the four of them: Marvel, Sapphire, Sly and Lulu.

 ** _Amista Beaufort, 22_**

 _District 1 Mentor_

 _Reaping Day_

It took her around 15 minutes to find the damned man, and when she did, he wasn't alone. Amista literally run in Bradwell as she turned around a corner; the other victor was chatting nonchalantly with his wife, a large grin on their lips. The young woman took a couple of steps back from the surprised couple, a hostile expression on her beautiful features; her eyes were still a little red from crying earlier, but Bradwell either didn't notice or didn't care.

"Bradwell."

The man raised an eyebrow before telling his wife to go ahead.

"What's with the sour expression?" he inquired when they were left alone.

"This is not what we agreed on" Amista could physically feel her blood boil when she looked up at the man. Did he plan this out with his daughter from the start?

"Then change your plan."

"You're telling me to favor your daughter even though she screwed up everything that I've prepared for Sly?"

"Yes."

"Unbelievable."

"If you feel like you can't handle it, just tell me now, and I'll gladly take over for you."

"I never said that." She shook her head in disbelief as she walked up and down, her predator like eyes never leaving Bradwell's form. She couldn't believe the nerve of him. "It's just hard to decide who to help when one of my tributes is the daughter of a fellow victor and the other one is the son of the mayor, a boy I've had big plans for."

The other victor opened his mouth to retort, but Amista raised her hand firmly. "Don't. We need to board the train."

She stormed away, making sure to bump her shoulder in Bradwell's on her way.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hi~! Here we are, the District 1 reaping! A special thank you for _laurenyeean_ and _Puddleglum_ _Beers_ for Amy and Sly respectively! I made a blog for _Uncertainty,_ the link is on my profile if you are interested. The updates will be sporadical, because university is starting again, but I can't wait to bring you the next reaping!

(Edit: I'm planning on writing the actual reaping scene from the escorts' point of view sometime in the future. I may post it here as a different story or on the blog, I haven't decided yet.)

See you soon (hopefully)!

 **~Nessie**


	6. Ch 4: Victors know best

**~Chapter Four~**

 **Victors know best**

 **\- District 2 -**

* * *

 _ **Julianna Deblair, 18**_

 _2 weeks before Reaping Day_

Heart pounding, rasping throat, leaden feet, heavy legs. If someone looked up the word "exhausted", they would find Julianna's name and picture. The girl finished her hundredth lap around the training room; she stumbled a couple of steps before plopping down on her backside right in the middle of the room. She groaned as she scratched her legs, earning quite a few raised eyebrows from the trainers. But really, all of the other trainees were in similar conditions, they just didn't voice their discomfort.

Minutes passed by before she was able to gathered the strength and stand up. Still panting, she walked over to the stands holding the different type of weapons; taking a longsword in her hands, she raised the weapon above her head until she was able to see her reflection in it's blade. Her cheeks were flushed and her pony tail loosened.

"Hm…" she hummed in content as she fixed her hair with one hand as best as she could. She still looked stunning and she was aware of it. With another glance at her reflection she put back the weapon and looked around. Finding her friend was one of the easiest tasks ever. One could spot the girl's white, almost transparent skin and snowy hair from a mile away.

Julianna waved the albino girl over.

"Nervous?" smirked Beyza as she jogged over.

"Not really. I don't have a reason to," shrugged Julianna as she patted her friend on the back. "I'm a better fighter than the others, there's no doubt I'll be the chosen volunteer."

The white haired girl snorted with an amused undertone. "You do know that I'm your competition too, right?"

And indeed, Beyza was one of the most promising trainees this year, alongside Julianna. But as she looked at her albino friend, the girl was positive that there was no way she'd be chosen. Her appearance was way too outstanding and not in a good way. The other tributes would spot her from a great distance and run away, she would never have the advantage of a surprise attack. Well, only if the arena was a snowy one this year too which, in Julianna's opinion, was impossible. This was her year to shine.

"I do. But you have to admit, I'm better." She straightened her back proudly as Beyza sighed in defeat; Julianna was obviously missing the fact that the other girl let it slide just to avoid fighting.

The ear piercing sound of a whistle echoed through the training room, telling the trainees to gather in the center. The two girls were one of the first ones to get there; they stood in the front, getting a clear view of the two victors standing in the middle. Lyme and Brutus both had an intimidating aura around them, but Julianna found her attention drawn towards the older woman. She was beautiful, mesmerizing even; the teenager dreamed to be like her. She wanted to be popular, a famous actress in the Capitol, just like Lyme.

"Those in their last year, listen here!" Brutus' powerful voice brought her back to reality. "You all trained hard, but for the majority, it was a waste of time. Only two will get the chance to bring glory."

The other victor nodded along. "After much debate we made a decision. Copper Langley and Julianna Deblair will be the ones to represent our district this year. You worked hard."

Hearing her name, a high-pitched squeal left the girl's lips. She literally jumped up in joy; worming her way to her now partner, she threw her arms around him. The boy stiffened under her unexpected touch, but before he could register what was happening, Julianna was already back in her initial place, hugging her friend instead.

Brutus cleared his throat in irritation. He glared daggers at the screaming girl before turning to the disappointed crowd. "For those of you who failed, I encourage you to continue to pursue a Peacekeeper career. Good luck."

After that, Julianna barely registered what was happening, her mind too clouded by happiness.

Beyza dragged her to the side, and even though she was slightly disheartened by the announcement, she smiled at her friend encouragingly. "Congratulations."

"Thank you! I knew it! I knew it!" The chosen volunteer simply couldn't calm down.

"I envy you," sighed Beyza as her attention traveled to Copper, a dreamy gaze appearing in her eyes when she watched the boy chatting with his friends. "Having such a handsome guy as your district partner… I bet there'll be something going on between the two of you."

Julianna shook her head. "He's not my type. I don't like redheads. Besides, I'm not looking for a hookup for the duration of the games. I want love and commitment once I come back, and I will find it."

"I'd be fine with a hookup if it was with Copper…" whispered the white haired girl under her breath.

 _ **Copper Langley, 18**_

 _2 weeks before Reaping Day_

There was only one question in Copper's mind at the moment.

What. The. Hell?

He was trained to be aware of his surrounding at all times, but an overly excited girl jumping in your arms would take anybody off guard. His brown eyes remained glued to his partner's form, a sneer creeping across his lips. It quickly disappeared, however, when his friend approached him from behind.

"Congratulations! You deserved it!" A strong hand landed on his shoulder and Copper turned around with a confident smile. The one year younger boy looked just as excited as ever.

"Thank you, Brono. You'll be in my place next year."

"Hopefully!"

The two were surrounded by other trainees within moments, all eager to congratulate Copper on his achievement. As he looked around them, he noticed how all of them were younger than him; not a single one was from his age group. Truth be told, he wasn't surprised. Why would they approach the very person that stole their last chance at glory?

Copper chatted briefly with the people surrounding him, but the small crowd slowly dissipated, leaving him once again alone with Brono. The younger boy leaned back with crossed arms as he eyed him.

"What?" inquired the chosen volunteer with a raised eyebrow.

"You don't seem as excited as before."

"What do you mean?"

"Seeing you interact with them… You were less cocky than before the announcement was made."

The older teenager put his hands on his hips; his friend was right. He wasn't suddenly scared of his job, no. But he was rather irritated by the fact that his district partner had to be Julianna Deblair, of all people.

"But I am excited. I just… Of all people, why her?"

"Would you rather have the albino girl?" challenged Brono at which Copper just rolled his eyes. The older threw his arm around the other's shoulder and led him out of the room. Training was over for the day; the two friends agreed to go to the Academy's sports ground after changing. Playing basketball was a good way to celebrate Copper's success.

"No." started the older as they entered the locker room, returning to their previous topic. "Choosing Beyza over Julianna would be foolish. But you know how bad I hate people who don't know the meaning of hard work. I mean, yeah sure, she trained pretty hard to be chosen, but look at her family. They basically did nothing to earn their wealth, they inherited it, and still think that they are better than anybody else."

Copper sighed as he sat down, aware that being irritated now was pointless. He proceeded to change his footwear; getting rid of the military boots, he opted for his more comfortable basketball shoes. He knew all too well that he should've replace them a long time ago, but he couldn't bring himself to. The parts that should've been white were dirty grey and the once pitch black stripes were as faded as they could get. Those shoes had history.

"I get your point."

"Ah, whatever," he shook his head. "It was the victors' decision, so I guess I can't complain. They know best."

"That they do."

 _ **Brutus Thor, 28**_

 _District 2 Mentor_

 _2 weeks before Reaping Day_

For the first time since his games, Brutus wondered whether he made the right decision or not. He stood in the middle of the training hall like an imposing ancient roman sculpture and eyed the two soon to be volunteers like a hawk would its prey. They got the highest scores, there was no doubt that they were talented, had the ambition and the required ruthlessness of a future victor. But were they able to collaborate? Teamwork was necessary, at least in the first half of the games, but with only one glance, Brutus could tell that there was something off about the pair. Julianna and Copper's personalities didn't quite match. In the end, did he make the right choice?

The man shook his head, trying to get his doubts out of his mind. "As long as one of them succeeds, I don't care."

"What did you say?" Brutus glanced at the other victor from the corner of his eyes. Lyme stood there with a confused expression. "Sorry, I didn't pay attention."

"I wasn't talking to you." The man put his hands in his pockets and turned to leave the training room. Lyme had to jog lightly to keep up with the bear-like male.

"Then… were you talking to yourself?" The silence that followed answered her question. "Really now? You get weirder with each day…"

This only earned a grunt from Brutus.

The two made their way down the large halls toward the changing rooms, neither feeling the need to start a pointless conversation just to break the silence. They barely turned around a corner when Brutus heard an eerily familiar shriek. The man found himself face to face with Lyme's younger sister. The woman had tears running down her cheeks and a glare that screamed killing intent.

"Ada, what-"

Lyme didn't have the time to finish her sentence, Ada run straight at Brutus. She pushed his chest with all her might, but it didn't seem to affect the man. He just looked at her with a raised eyebrow. What was her problem?

"You! Murderer!" yelled Ada with flaming eyes, earning quite a few stares from the trainers and trainees passing by.

"I've been called worse." crossed Brutus his arms in front of his chest.

"Ada, what happened!?" tried again the older sister.

"This- Him- He-" Ada struggled to voice her anger. She looked at her sister with a strange mix of panic and irritation, then her eyes snapped back at the man in question, her voice full of determination. "Are you even human!? You killed our grandmother!"

Brutus sighed, finally understanding what this outburst was about. Running his large hand over his face tiredly he looked around. A circle was starting to form around them, it seemed like nobody wanted to mind their own business.

"Oh. That."

"Brutus!" Lyme grabbed his arm forcefully, digging her nails in his flesh, drawing blood in an instant. "What is she talking about? Why is nobody answering my questions!?"

"I've warned you before, haven't I?" He stared at the sisters with disdain, ignoring their hurt and pain. "I told you to keep Ursel in check. You didn't listen to me, and two days ago she killed a 10 years old boy in the changing rooms. Right here at the academy. No one is going to murder my trainees, victor or not."

Lyme's claw-like fingers loosened, and her arms dropped to her side with realization. She looked up at Brutus, but the man's ruthless expression broke her even more.

"You didn't listen to me, Lyme. You are the reason Ursel died."

A sniff escaped the woman, and her legs gave in. She fell to her knees and soon enough she broke down crying. Ada hurried to her side and enveloped her in a tight hug, her sharp eyes still on the man's form.

"It was a single stab to the heart. She died instantly." The two women's cries became louder and with his last comment still ringing in everyone's ears, he marched away. The crowd instantly gave him way.

Every single soul that witnessed the exchanged remained shocked. Some of them realized only now how cruel life can be. How murder isn't only present in the Games. How dangerous it is to get on a victor's bad side, especially when they hold such power in their hands.

Brutus is truly a man to be feared.

 _ **Julianna Deblair, 18**_

 _District 2 Tribute_

 _Reaping Day_

The snow-white vanity stood out against the cyclamen colored walls of Julianna's room. It was new, eye-catching and rather expensive by the looks of it, a perfect birthday present in her opinion. She got it from her father a couple of weeks ago as a compensation. It was the least he could do for not being around most of the time because of his job as a Peacekeeper. And the 18 years old girl was perfectly content with the gift.

She sat down, doing her make-up in record time. The black eyeliner really brought out her bright blue eyes and long eyelashes, and the foundation made her already smooth skin shine. Julianna eyed her reflection with satisfaction, she was dazzling, exactly how a future victor and Capitol superstar should be.

She stood up and straightened her long pink dress while also throwing a glance at the silvery clock on the wall. She was still on time.

Julianna walked down the stairs leisurely; the silence of the house made her relax. All the luxuries in this two storey house were all hers. She was an only child, once her parents died, she would be the sole owner of the property, but strangely, with both of her parents still around, Julianna still felt like she was already possessing everything.

Her father was rarely around; she would see him around the district sometimes in his Peacekeeper uniform, but home he rarely went. And even when he did, he would arrive well after Julianna went to bed and leave before she woke up. The same went for her mother. She wasn't away because of her job, but because she chose to. Now that the 18-year-old thought about it, her mother never seemed to enjoy her company. The older woman would rather spend her time with her friend than with her own daughter. Julianna wondered if her mother didn't like her for some reason. Were her skills not satisfactory enough? No, she was the best at everything she did, there was no doubt about it. Did she wish for a son 18 years ago but got Julianna instead? Perhaps she did.

"It doesn't matter." she raised her head proudly as she stepped outside and locked her front door, a smirk sneaking its way on her lips. "My time has come to shine."

She got this. She could already taste victory.

The girl didn't have to walk for a long time, the town square was practically 10 minutes from her home by foot. She sniffed in the refreshing morning air as she looked around. Julianna looked at every single Peacekeeper in the area, but she could not find her father. None of them had the man's distinguishing build and proud bearing; her smile flattened, would he really not see his daughter volunteer?

Just as she was about to get in queue with the other eligible girls, someone grabbed her shoulder. Acting on instinct only she turned around and escaped from the other person's hand skillfully, like a graceful feline. Her eyes snapped at the other's face, only to find it covered by a white Peacekeeper mask.

"Dad?" she asked, lowering her guard her eyebrows rose with excitement. "Is it really you!?"

"Yes, it's me. But hush now, I shouldn't be talking to civilians while I'm on duty."

Julianna wanted nothing more than to hug her father and bury her face in his chest. She hasn't seen him for days, weeks, even though they lived in the same house. But since they weren't allowed to have any kind of contact while he was on duty, she just clasped her hands together and forced herself to remain still. She couldn't control her facial expressions, though. She stood there, grinning like a fool.

"You'll be watching me, right?" asked Julianna with a high-pitched voice, the excitement getting the better of her.

"Yes. I don't think that I'll be able to come in and say goodbye after, so I'll just do it now." The man shifted from one foot to the other, his hand coming to rest on his hips. He straightened his back as he eyed his daughter from behind the mask. "I'm proud of you. You are amazing Julianna, I couldn't wish for a better child. You are perfect."

Julianna's grin widened, her eyes shining more with each word her father said.

The man raised his hand and pointed behind Julianna. She looked back only to see a small group of women chatting loudly, her eyes immediately landing on one person in particular. Her mother had the sharpest features one could imagine on a woman, but strangely enough it suited her; she was a natural beauty. She didn't seem to notice Julianna.

With a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach, she turned back to her father.

"I know that your mother is proud too. Incredibly so."

Julianna had her doubts about that. Was she really?

"Thank you, dad." She grinned again at her father, and waved a little before turning around and finally getting in the registration line.

 _ **Copper Langley, 18**_

 _District 2 Tribute_

 _Reaping Day_

 _Whoosh!_

Copper scored another three pointer that morning. An excited laugh escaped his lips as he run back to other side of the basketball court, ready to defend his basket. The boy played basketball numerous times in his life, but now getting in the defensive stance seemed harder than before; the reason: he wasn't wearing his beloved sports footwear. Copper almost slipped in his leather shoes, but in the last moment he recovered his balance; it was too late however, his older brother already passed him and dunked forcefully.

"You still have much to learn," panted the older brother, Steel Langley.

The ball slowly rolled over to Copper's feet; he picked it up and spun it on his finger while throwing an amused glance in his brother's direction.

"Tell me then, what did I do wrong?" he asked with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"You ran too fast." Steel shook his head, stating facts. "These shoes were not made for playing sports."

The older brother pointed at Copper's shoes, then at his own.

"Yeah, true- Hey!"

Copper almost jumped out of his skin as the ball suddenly lost its balance and hit the side of his head. He looked around, glaring daggers at the culprit. His other brother stood by the side of the court, by their backyard entrance. "What was this for?"

"Don't lower your guard," approached Iron the other two. Copper stood tall, meeting his brother eye to eye. One would think by their body language that a fight was about to erupt, but the amusement of the three brothers was evident in the air.

"Why would I need to be on guard around you two? Are you plotting against me?" A sly smirk appeared on the 18 year old's lips.

"Yes, of course." Steel rolled his eyes. In the split of a second he had his younger brother in a headlock, messing up his hair like there was no tomorrow. Copper laughed but didn't fight back, there was no point. Steel trained at the Academy too, he was older by 7 years and much stronger than him. He lived up to his name, he really had a steel grip.

"Okay, that's enough you two," stepped in Iron. He grabbed Steel by the back of his shirt, urging him to let their younger brother go. Once free, Copper fixed his hair and pitch black dress shirt the best he could.

 _"Copper!"_

The 18-year-old's head snapped up at the faint voice. Someone was yelling in front of their house. Someone by the name of Brono.

"Go," pointed in the direction of the house Steel. "Would want you to be late on your big day."

"Don't you forget to come and say goodbye, mkay?" grinned Copper at his brothers.

Iron shook his head in amusement. "Sure, sure."

Sending them a thumbs up, Copper turned around and run back to the house, basketball court long forgotten. He stormed in; almost running in his mother in the process. The woman blinked at her youngest son with wide eyes.

"Copper! You are still home? Shouldn't you be at the town square already?"

"On my way!" The boy winked at his mother, he grabbed her shoulders and pushed her to the side gently. "I won't disappoint you!"

Without a second glance back, he marched out of the house. He could faintly hear his mother's voice saying _'I love you!'_ , but he was already on the street. Copper run straight to Brono, bumping into him instead of saying hello. They laughed as they began to walk.

Brono looked back at the house Copper came out from and whistled. "I always forget how rich you are."

The Langley family owned one of the largest and most luxurious houses in District 2, that was true. But what really made them stand out was their hard work. They didn't inherit their money like half of the district's population; they persevered and with hard work they managed to become one of the big dogs, so to say. And Copper was proud of that; that's how everything should be, people must value what they have.

"Anyway," began Brono as they made their way further down the street. "Are you really sure that you'll get along with Brutus?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?" replied Copper confidently, confusion sneaking its way in his voice.

"You… you don't know?"

"Don't know what?"

"Copper… Brutus killed Ursel _two weeks ago_. Did you not know about that!?"

The boy's mouth hung open as he looked at Brono with wide eyes. Yes, he did hear about the incident regarding the old victor, but he never knew who the murderer was until now. Killing in the Games, that was entirely justified; the whole event was a punishment for the rebellion. But murder outside of the Games? That was something Copper couldn't condone.

"But if you think about it, Brutus did what was right. I mean, Ursel killed a 10-year-old; your mentor only got rid of a psycho."

"Brono. I suggest you shut up now."

"O-okay…" The younger boy stuttered as Copper gritted his teeth, the boy's career side was already showing.

What was Copper going to do now? Could he look at the man with the same respect as before? He did not know, but one thing was for sure: in his eyes, Brutus lost that glorious aura of a victor.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hi~! I'm back with the District 2 reaping! I know I haven't been around for months now, but uni is slowly killing me with all the assignments. I literally had only this weekend free between the two semesters. I hope you can forgive me for not posting sooner. :( I also updated the blog, check it out if you want!

Special thank you for _IciclePower33_ and _the_ _consulting_ _marauder_ for Julianna and Copper respectively. I'm sorry if I didn't portray them as you imagined, so please tell me if I should change anything about them in the future!

I hope I can bring you the next chapter way sooner. I won't rest until I finished this story!

See ya!

 **~Nessie**


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